


A House is Not a Home

by HarpiaHarpyja



Series: Tumblr Reylo Flash Fiction [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Ahch-To is Haunted as Fuck, Alternate Universe - Horror, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Creepy Staircases, F/M, Filmographer Ben Solo, Flash Fiction, Gen, Haunted Houses, House Restoration Gone Wrong, House of Leaves Inspired, Mysterious Pits in the Ground Are Best Left Alone, Renovator Rey, Reylo - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 20:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15803871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarpiaHarpyja/pseuds/HarpiaHarpyja
Summary: It’s a potentially career-defining opportunity: restore Ahch-To, a 200-year-old house steeped in legend and troubled history, and Rey isn’t about to pass it up. With Ben documenting the whole project, she thinks there could even be a chance of a deal with Netflix.But the house holds more than just dust and odd smells — like a pit at its center that calls to them and makes dark promises. Could it be connected to the disappearance of the house’s last steward, Ben’s eccentric uncle who mysteriously went missing nearly a decade ago?





	A House is Not a Home

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Reylo AU Week 2018 on Tumblr, posted [here](https://thisgarbagepicker.tumblr.com/post/177412323150/reylo-au-week-day-7-free-choice-horror-au).

“There’s something down there.” Ben looked pointedly at the top of the staircase. Barely a second passed before he seemed unable to keep his eyes fixed there and returned his attention to his camera. “At the bottom.”

Rey grimaced. “What?”

“Don’t you feel it?”

Reluctantly, she nodded. “Yeah. I feel it. Like something calling.” It sounded ridiculous—why did she say that? “Is that what you mean?” 

“Yep.” He was still focused on the camera, but he had enough good humor to waggle his eyebrows. “Creepy, huh?”

It should have been alarming, or at least mildly troubling, but it wasn’t. ‘Something’ was calling from the bottom of a dark spiral staircase in the middle of the house. A staircase that, she swore, had not been there when they came the day before to begin appraising how much work would need to be done (answer: a lot). They had Ben’s footage to prove it. 

The room had been empty, but for dust and a few mice. A large round room where breaks in the dirt on the floor hinted at spaces furniture may once have stood; four hallways branching off like points on a compass; a beautiful circular window built into the ceiling above its center; but no staircase.

She wandered a little nearer to the top of it, leaned over the iron railing, and peered down. How long was this thing? The house was only three stories, but the stairs continued on far enough that whatever lay more than a few spirals down was entirely obscured in shadow. Logic told her that it couldn’t go on forever. But it had to go underground, beyond even the mildewed cellars. She began to consider the architectural and geographical implications. 

For such a thing to be possible, the house would need to have been built around some sort of pit in the earth. And that still didn’t explain how the staircase had materialized—fully formed, even aged to match the rest of the house—apparently overnight. There was a smell, too, brought up on the cool air that was somehow confined to an invisible column above the stairwell and down into its depths—cold and stony, mushroomy, with a hint of ambroxan. Ozonic, almost, like there might be water at the bottom.

“It’s freakishly dark down there.” It was an obvious statement, but she felt compelled to comment, because for once Ben wasn’t speculating aloud like he was prone to do about nearly everything that even hinted at needing solving.

A fuzz of hot breath on her neck jolted her with the words that followed it, the voice a deep hum against her ear. “Go into the dark, Rey. It calls you. Embrace it . . .”

She yelped and pushed away from the railing—and Ben, who had sneaked up behind her to amuse himself and was just snaking an arm around her waist. The fact that a man his size was capable of making such a silent approach across creaky wooden floors defied probability. He was snickering to himself now. 

“Save the games for later,” Rey told him, unable to bring herself to be properly annoyed. She scrubbed her palms over her jeans, trying to rid her skin of the metallic smell the railing had left behind. She hated that smell; it only made her think of the way blood tasted. 

“Gladly,” Ben said. “Here, try this.”

He sidled around her and handed her the camera as he dug into his bag. He came up with a flashlight, clicked it on and squinted when he temporarily blinded himself in his haste, then leaned over the railing to shine it down into the depths. The beam was strong and bright and shone easily straight down—until it didn’t. Suddenly, perhaps ten meters down, it just deflected in a perfectly horizontal line to flash against the inner curve of the stairwell. It was like the beam had hit something that physically grabbed and redirected it, barring its passage further. 

“What the fuck?” they muttered in unison. Rey laughed, trying to break the tension; Ben only managed a queasy smile. 

As curious as she was unnerved, she found a quarter in the pocket of her jacket, shushed Ben in case he was about to opine further, and flung it over the edge. Whatever surface the light had hit, it wasn’t so far down that they wouldn’t hear the coin hit it as well. That unnatural darkness was some illusion, surely. But the coin never seemed to land at all. Instead it disappeared into the silence beyond the beam’s end.

They both continued staring after it, waiting, hardly breathing. Rey heard Ben heave a sigh, but he sounded so far away somehow. She could hear other things that were more interesting. She could hear the roots growing in the dirt beneath the house; she could _feel_ them, too, tickling her palms with hair-thin rootlets. She could hear worms digging, soil shifting, things decaying and being born. She could feel her blood in her veins, and Ben’s in his, his heart pumping, lungs expanding, goosebumps on his skin . . . 

If Rey looked hard enough into that round dark nothing below, if she listened well enough, she was certain she would see everything, hear everything, know everything. It had so much to show her.

“Hey, don’t lean so far like that.” Ben grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the railing. “I could probably catch you in time if you started to fall, but I’d rather not test it.”

“Never been a fan of trust falls myself,” she agreed. She hadn’t realized how close she was getting. And anyway, if she was going to see what was down there, the house had provided her a beautiful staircase by which to do so. No need to take a tumble. She looked up at him questioningly. “Shall we?”

“What? Descend into the depths?” 

“Well, we’re here to see the house. And, whatever this is,” she said, gesturing at the stairs and all that lay below, “it’s part of the house. Right?”

“Fair point.”   
“Don’t worry. If you get scared, I’ll hold your hand.”  
Ben gave a dry laugh.  
Neither of them said what they both knew the other was thinking—this was a bad idea. It was the sort of thing that got people killed in horror movies. Their reasoning was the very opposite of sound. But in that moment, it seemed like the _only_ idea, the only way to satisfy some urge that had been born when they set eyes on that neat black circle of promised possibilities at the heart of an impossible staircase. 

“Well then.” Ben clicked on the flashlight again and traded it with Rey for his camera. “I’ll follow your lead.”


End file.
